The New Arrival
by asliceoftoast
Summary: Things on the frontline are beginning to get crazy.


Jackson sighed, staring at the beige tent in front of him. He tightened his grip on his leather satchel before heading towards the queue that wrapped around the camp. The line was full of wounded soldiers with white medical gauze wrapped tightly around injured limbs, their listless attitude poisoning the patriotic spirit. Forlorn soldiers stood about mourning the loss of their fallen comrades while melancholy moans erupted from the wounded and filled the empty air. The earth trembled beneath his feet, shaking from the relentless bombardments miles away.

Pulling back at the entrance flaps, Jackson laid sight on a petite young redhead standing amiss all the chaos in the makeshift hospital, barking out orders to the nurses tending to the wounded like a drill sergeant to his soldiers. She observed her surroundings, chewing her lip in frustration before her eyes drifted to his figure. Uncertainty flitted across her features, as she walked towards him.

"Do you have it?" she questioned hastily. Jackson fumbled around with the metal clasp of his bag, finally pulling out a black metal box after a couple of seconds. She snatched it from his hands, prying the lid open to reveal the precious treasure inside. Pain medication. April called the other girls over and divvied up the amber bottles filled with pure ether. They scurried back to their patients once they received their share and administered the medication sparingly. April stood by Jackson, scanning the room, ensuring that everything ran smoothly.

"Slow day, April?" he asked, attempting to make conversation with her.

"Don't say that," she railed, glaring at him before rushing off to tend to another patient. She examined the man, disrupting him from his drug-induced trance, and called a porter to send him to the billets to rest. She moved around the room with purpose, working efficiently to discharge as many of the injured as she could. "You'll jinx it," she raved as she walked by.

As if on cue, a larger man dressed in a muddy army uniform stumbled into the tent, dragging a bruised and battered soldier behind him. Jackson stood motionless like a statue in his spot, eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Matthew!" April exclaimed, rushing over to help the wounded. She motioned for Jackson to help her place the substantially heavier man onto a cot.

"One of the parapets fell," the other spoke, a thick Scottish accent blurring his words. He ran his muddied fingers through his ginger hair in frustration, stepping back to give April room to work. Matthew's ribs jerked around as his lungs struggled for air. April pulled off his bloodied jacket revealing a gaping bullet wound to his lower abdomen. Blood gushed from the hole, and Jackson grabbed a packet of gauze by the bedside, handing it to her. Matthew hissed in pain, working himself to a restive state, as she applied copious amounts of pressure to the wound. While April attempted to stop the bleeding, Jackson and the porter held his flailing limbs down. The pristine gauze soon turned crimson, tainted by the oozing blood. April tossed the dirtied pad to the side and replaced it with a new one. Her fiery red hair fell from the braid it was in while she worked, a tendril obstructing her field of view. She tucked the stray piece behind her ear with her soiled hands, transferring the red stain across her forehead. April stepped back, wrapping the wound with a cloth before handing Matthew a drink. He gulped the water down greedily, the liquid quenching the dry ache in his throat.

"There's more coming. Our forces are devastated," Matthew announced laconically, voice trembling in pain, but the message was clear as day. All the injured who were well enough to leave vacated their beds in preparation for the influx of patients. April stood in front of the entrance, waiting on the incoming soldiers. She wiped the scarlet liquid off her hands, and Jackson joined her. She looked over him, her round hazel eyes conveying a silent message of strength and determination to his steely blue ones. Jackson reached over, swiping his thumb over the red streak on her forehead.

As the first of many men stumbled through into the tent, April shot Jackson a demure smile, turning on her heel to focus her attention on the patient. He gathered himself before heading off in the same direction.


End file.
